


Undertum(mies)

by SkyWrite



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Fluff, Gen, Stomach Ache, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:09:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrite/pseuds/SkyWrite
Summary: A couple of years ago I wrote several one-shots on tumblr in response to undertum prompts! I'm compiling them here - this is all belly-kink, don't like, don't read!





	1. Slice of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since requests are open, may I request a small fic where Sans overeats (accidental or not) and Papyrus rubs his noisy and upset belly while gently scolding him?

Sans tried not to let his sockets slide closed as he held the remote out in one hand, mindlessly flipping through channels. Lazy Saturdays at home alone weren’t bad, but he always missed Papyrus’ manic energy zipping to and fro from one thing to the next. Right now, his brother was off training with Undyne; a practice that wasn’t really necessary anymore now that they’d reached the surface. But the two of them really seemed to enjoy the exercise, so they continued the tradition just for fun.

Finally settling on a rainforest documentary with a yawn, Sans leaned back and contentedly drummed his blue belly with his finger-bones. Rounded and warm, the empty _thu-thumping_ sound reminded him he needed to get something to eat before Papyrus came home.

He was just nodding off again when a knock interrupted his doze, and he looked up, not sure for a moment that he’d really heard it.

Waiting for a moment, the knock came again, more insistent this time, so he heaved himself off the couch (a bit reluctantly) and shuffled towards the door.

Upon opening it, Sans jerked back in surprise when a stack of pizza boxes was shoved in his face, and he looked up curiously at the bedraggled-looking delivery boy, before shrugging one shoulder. “uh… I didn’t order a—“

“Just take it, man.” The boy whined, shivering in the chilly fall breeze, his uniform not offering much insulation. “My shift was over an hour ago. Boss has us working extra hours to keep up with the holidays.”

“er…” Sans fumbled in his pocket for a bit of gold (one of the biggest surprises when they’d gotten to the surface was how highly the humans valued the stuff) and obligingly handed it over. Gratefully, the boy smiled, thrust the boxes into Sans’ waiting hands, then was back down the driveway like a shot.

Closing the door slowly, Sans stared down at the pizza in confusion, wondering if perhaps Papyrus had ordered for the pizzas to be delivered to the house, but after a moment he simply shrugged and returned to the couch to enjoy his unexpected lunch. He’d paid for it, so even if it was a mistake and the boy had gotten the wrong house, no harm done, right?

He lifted the cover of the first box as he settled it onto his femurs, and deeply inhaled the delicious scent. The crust was doughy and thick, the savory cheese melted _just_ the right amount. Pepperoni dotted the surface, practically reflective with the amount of grease smeared over it. Sans grinned, almost able hear Papyrus shrieking about having standards.

The first slice in hand, Sans plowed enthusiastically into the first bite, moaning with appreciation as the scrumptious taste burst between his teeth. It was warm and chewy and had the perfect blend of flavor; tangy from the sauce, spicy from the pepperoni, cheesy, greasy, and everything he loved. He nearly inhaled the rest of the slice, and proceeded to lift the next, licking the grease from his thumb as he did so.

Each bite was so satisfying that he lost track of how many slices he’d packed away, until a sharp pain began to gurgle deep in his belly.  
Wincing, he paused, pressing a hand to his middle and groaning in surprise when he realized how stuffed he was. His whole belly shifted and burbled under his hand, protesting the sudden influx of greasy food, and he pushed away the remaining few bites as he leaned back, desperately trying to soothe his grumbling gut by rubbing in circles.

“ngh… should’ve paid more ‘ttention…”  
_grrummblle…glurporp~_  
Something told him his belly was inclined to agree, and he groaned faintly.  
Sans laid on the couch, unable to move, and fruitlessly tried to massage away the pain in his pizza-stuffed tummy, moaning every so often and squirming under the weight of the cheesy, doughy mass twisting in his insides. His belly made no attempt to hide its irritation— _sllorrsh…grrrggle_ —and so he was alone with very unpleasant company for who knows how long.

He must have eventually dozed off, because the next time he pried open his sockets, Papyrus was standing over him, hands on his hips, with a very stern expression gracing his normally upbeat features.

“SANS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”  
He gave his belly an experimental rub, and finding it still very displeased— _guurrglle_ —he groaned. “Bit off a little more than I could chew eheh… or rather, _stomach_.”

“SANS, THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER. THINK OF THE GREASE! THINK OF YOUR HEALTH! IF YOU DON’T—“ Papyrus broke off with a sympathetic frown as Sans clutched his belly and moaned. A moment later, he’d scooped the smaller skeleton brother into his arms and re-seated them both on the couch, shoving away the offending pizza boxes.

“ulp… bro, what—“  
“HUSH BROTHER.” Papyrus interrupted, still glowering, but placed one gloved hand on the tormented little blue belly and began to rub, pressing just firmly enough, “LET ME HELP. NO TUMMY ACHE IS A MATCH FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS."

“ngh…uhh..” _gluurrple… grrrl…_ “…thanks bro.” Sans groaned in relief, and his stomach echoed the sentiment. Gradually, the churning pain slowed under Papyrus’ careful ministrations, until all that remained was the quiet, consistent gurgling of a difficult meal being digested.

His brother had launched back into Lecture mode as soon as he noticed Sans’ was feeling better, but it was no use, as the smaller skeleton had already slipped soundly into sleep.


	2. Is this as sweet as you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hooboy-how about a good ol brotherly skelebro stuffing fic-where either Sans (or Papyrus) over eats, gets a tummy ache, (with lots of unhappy stomach noises) and the other bro helps them out with belly rubs?

“Mmm… a little to the left. Up a bit.”

“SANS, I CAN’T REACH ANY HIGHER.”

“Kidding bro, just wanted to get a _rise_ out of you.”

“I’M GOING TO FALL OFF THIS LADDER ONTO YOUR HEAD.”

It was the First Year Anniversary of Monsterkind gaining their freedom, and the preparations for a highly anticipated celebration were well underway. Sans was “supervising” Papyrus’ attempts to hang a banner over the door; the main entrance to Toriel’s thriving school. Now though, in the early evening of a cool fall Saturday, the grounds were empty of schoolchildren and soon to be filled with every type of monster imaginable.

King Asgore would begin the night by giving a speech in the auditorium, thanking everyone for doing their part to make peace with the Overworld and stating his confidences that the future would be brighter than ever as they all move forward. Then the activities would start, including everything from classic festival games to karaoke with Mettaton himself.  
And of course, thanks to the efforts of many of monsterkind’s talented cooks (Toriel herself not least of all), there would plenty of delicious food and drinks as well.

Sans grinned with delight as Papyrus jumped down from the ladder (after tying the banner in place) to oblige a kid for a picture with him standing next to the hedge in the shape of his face. His brother was almost always cheerful but it had been a while since he’d last seen him so excited.  
Back in the Underground, Papyrus had always been chasing the idea of popularity and having lots of friends to call his own, but here on the surface, he was beloved by all without even needing to try, as Sans always knew would be the case if people got to know him. His brother was so cool.

Undyne came to fetch them for the dignified, but brief, ceremony, and even Sans had to admit, it was hard not to leak a little around the eyes during the more emotional moments of Asgore’s speech. When the lights came back up, there was a few seconds of quiet sniffling before everyone burst into applause and eagerly launched into the games and music and food.

Sans immediately headed for Grillby’s booth, noting with pleasure that Alphys was encouraging Papyrus to accompany her to the apple bobbing tank.

“BOBBING FOR APPLES?” Papyrus asked, his brow drawn in confusion. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS NEVER HEARD TELL OF SUCH A GAME.”

“O-oh you’ll love it! I-it’s a little something w-we picked up from the humans; you s-see, they float apples in a tank of water, and you have to catch one with your mouth! A-as a skeleton, I’m sure you’d be v-very good at it!”  
“WELL THEN, LEAD ON. I CAN NEVER PASS UP A CHANCE TO SHOW OFF MY GREAT SKILL.”

Five minutes later, he was feeling decidedly _less_ confident as he stared down at the half-submerged fruits, but Alphys was looking at him expectantly, and so he bent down…  
He gripped one almost instantly, and as cheers went off around the circle of people watching, he winked and let out a muffled NYEH HEH HEH  
In his haste to straighten up however and claim his prize, he jostled the table on which the basin of water was resting, and-  
“AUUGHH”

Alphys was still apologizing for having the idea as she handed him yet -another- towel to hold over his eyes, as they sat on a quiet bench near the game booths.  
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I-I, I didn’t realize the water could go _into_ your eyes, like actually _through_ your eyes…”  
“I AM A SKELETON.” He reminded her, words stifled a bit by the towel. “WE HAVE EYESOCKETS, NOT EYES.”

“Buck up, Papyrus.” Undyne cackled heartily as she strode over and tossed something into his lap. “At least you set the record for fastest apple bob of the night! You won a whole pack of coupons for Nice Cream.”

“REALLY?” He lowered the towel and picked up the packet, scanning the 21 flavors list on the wrapper. They all sounded delicious.

“H-hey yeah why don’t you go get a Nice Cream? T-that always helps cheer people up!”

“A SPLENDID IDEA. LET’S GO!”

Alphys and Undyne both offered up token refusals, but it wasn’t hard to convince them to tag along to the Nice Cream cart. From there they wandered over to the actual feast laid out on the tables, where he was (predictably) distracted by the casserole dishes, several of which contained his personal greatest specialty.  
“AH SPAGHETTI, A TRULY REGAL MEAL TO HAVE AT SUCH A FINE CELEBRATION.”  
“You can chill here for a bit, Papyrus.” Undyne instructed as she grinned, rolling up her nonexistent sleeves and marching towards the Test-Your-Strength kiosk. “I’ve got something to take care of.”  
“I b-b-better make sure she doesn’t supplex the machine!” Alphys called over her shoulder as she hurried to catch up. Papyrus chuckled to himself as he finished the biscicle and piled a generous portion of spaghetti onto a paper plate.

He was just lifting the first forkful to his mouth when a sudden commotion to his right caught his attention. A young monster child had burst into tears, and as Papyrus hurried over, he spotted Gerson kneeling next to the kid and talking to him gently.  
“Now, now, there sonny, there’s plenty of other games to try.”  
“WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE TROUBLE? PERHAPS THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN HELP?”  
“Ah, Papyrus.” The old tortoise smiled at him in amusement. “Turns out I forgot the pin for the Ring Toss. We’ve got a youngster here that was really looking forward to the game, but looks like my smarts aren’t as sharp as they used to be.”  
“WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS ‘PIN’?”

While the kid sniffled his way to a slight calmer, if slightly damp state, Gerson explained the game (and it’s missing equipment) to Papyrus, who quickly beamed once he understood.  
“NOT TO WORRY! I CAN ASSIST BY USING BONE MAGIC!”  
Over the course of the next 30 minutes or so, Ring Toss experienced a boom in popularity as Papyrus invented ever new and clever ways to make the game more challenging. The “pin” was one of his bone attacks driven into the ground, but he also gleefully made use of his blue magic to set up obstacles for the children to figure out how to evade with their tosses and throws. It all took very little concentration, so he was able to sit on a stool nearby and enjoy his spaghetti while he watched them play with fondness.  
 _Mmmmm…_ he was surprised at how scrumptious the pasta was; nothing he’d cooked before tasted nearly as good as this did. The noodles were the perfect texture and the sauce was rich and flavorful— he really needed to get some er, “alternate” cooking lessons. Undyne was a great trainer and an even better friend, but he had suspected on more than one occasion that she didn’t really have a very traditional approach to cooking.

When the crowd of young customers thinned out, Gerson encouraged him to go around and try some of the other attractions for himself.  
“BUT HOW WILL YOU SUPPORT THE CROWDS OF FANS FOR RING TOSS?” Papyrus protested, to which Gerson laughed loudly.  
“I’m actually thinking of packing up and heading home for the night.” The old tortoise winked, “I can’t seem to quite keep up with you whippersnappers anymore.”  
“WELL, IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND…”  
“I won’t hesitate to give you a holler.” Gerson assured him, shooing him back towards the banquet tables. “Go enjoy yourself.”

Papyrus found Sans firmly planted in front of the spaghetti table when he returned, and his brother grinned broadly at him.  
“Hey Paps. Having fun? Look at all these _pasta_ bilities.”  
“SANS YOU’VE MADE THAT JOKE A HUNDRED TIMES.”  
“Nah, I’m certain it’s been _at least_ a hundred and one.”  
Papyrus made a face (clearly trying to cover up a smile) as he filled his plate with more spaghetti with one hand, and fished out the remaining Nice Cream coupons from his pocket with the other. “LOOK SANS, I WON THE APPLE BOBBING GAME!”  
There were any number of jokes to be made about that being “cool” and “sweet” but Sans reined himself in with a chuckle and patted his brother’s back. “No challenge too hard for the great Papyrus, eh bro?”  
“INDEED NOT.”  
“Are you going over to the cake walk any time soon?”  
“WHY WOULD ANYONE WALK ON CAKES??” Papyrus asked, scandalized.  
“Nah bro! A cake walk is like er… well it’s kind of like musical chairs. You know, that game that Frisk had at their birthday party last month? Except instead of chairs, it’s numbers on the floor. And as you’re walking around, if you land on a number that someone pulls out of a hat, you get a cake! Or a pie, seems there’s a few of those.”  
“THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN EXCELLENT GAME. LET’S GO!”  
“No rush, they’re not starting for another 10 minutes I don’t think. I’ll meet you over there. Finish your spaghetti. And uh, wipe your face.” Sans laughed as Papyrus’ magic rushed to his face in a blush.

In a hurry to get to the game station as quickly as possible, Papyrus shoveled the rest of the pasta down and bounded over, excitedly bouncing in place as one of the hosts explained the game’s rules. The DJ, Napstablook, started an… _interesting_ tune up on a mix tape, and all the monsters stepped from number to number. It didn’t escape San’s notice that there were more than enough cakes on the table for each player to win at least one, but he still acted surprised and excited when Papyrus’ number was called on the seventh turn.  
The two brothers picked out a cinnamon cake, and found a place at a nearby table to dig into it. They both agreed that the flavor was deliciously reminiscent of the cinnamon bunnies they used to have in Snowdin, as they watched the game proceed and laughed at people falling over each other in their haste to get to the numbers before being “out.”

The evening passed in a blur, with so many games to try, and Papyrus was finding out with great pleasure that he was _really_ good at winning most of them! He’d always bragged on himself and his abilities of course but it was one thing to make big talk and quite another to taste triumph over and over again. Literally, in fact, most of the prizes were some type of food, from cakes, cookies, and donuts to bags of candy and even the occasional crab apple. He tended to stop by the food tables every few games or so with a different friend each time, urging them to taste the spaghetti and even take a little for himself. He’d then go on a spiel about the dish and it’s many magnificent qualities and everyone humored him by listening, even if they’d heard it before.  
He was so caught up in the visiting and festivities, that he didn’t notice at first when he began to feel a little… less enthusiastic about the prizes. Someone would beam at him, congratulate him, and push another treat into his hand and he’d gleefully chow down and watch their smiles grow wider. He’d never been so popular before! This was the best— ooh. The room was suddenly a little too hot.

Suddenly feeling like he needed to sit down, he pressed a hand to his middle, and was surprised to find that his ecto belly had formed underneath his shirt without him realizing it. Sans carried his around all the time, mostly as an indulgence, but Papyrus rarely needed his unless he consumed a surplus of magical energy at once.   
He looked down at the half-eaten cookie in his other hand and grimaced. He really should have paid more attention… but he didn’t want to throw it away and waste it, so he stuffed it into his jaw and groaned around the crumbs while he worked to swallow it. Maybe if he found Sans in the crowd, they could go home.

Abruptly, he became aware of a presence at his elbow, and he looked down to see Monster Kid smiling hopefully up at him. Putting on a brave face and a smile for the kid, he said, “HELLO YOUNG CITIZEN. WHAT CAN THE GREAT PAPYRUS DO FOR YOU?”

MK wanted an assistant for “Pin the Tail on the Spider” (since when did spiders have tails??), so he let himself be led over to the game and figured he could at least use the distraction. MK donned a blindfold and spun around a few times, then stumbled over to the wall and smacked his forehead on the paper cutout. Papyrus tacked the strip of fabric to the place that the kid indicated, and Muffet giggled behind one of her many hands.  
“A for effort boys! Better luck next time.” She slid a donut onto the tip of MK’s tail, who immediately began to munch happily, but when Papyrus tried to refuse, she giggled again and insisted, “Don’t be shy, dearie! There’s plenty to go around!”

He took a bite reluctantly, but it really _did_ taste amazing, so he managed to choke it down despite the growing pain in his tummy. He really needed to find Sans…  
Maybe he’d feel better if he drank something. All they had appeared to be spider cider though, and after a few sips of that, he knew it wasn’t helping. But now he couldn’t waste the cup he’d taken…

The next half hour of time as Papyrus moved around the room, looking for his brother, proved to be purely awful. The rest of the crowd was as excited as ever to play games with him, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a smile plastered on his face. He turned down the prizes where he could, but most people urged him to take what he wanted and have fun! He was definitely not having fun anymore, as he forced eat bite down, his stomach grumbling unhappily and trying to stifle his moans of pain. Even the Nice Cream felt like it was sticking in his throat.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he ducked into an empty classroom, out of the way of the partygoers. A small Reading Corner had been set up with some soft cushions and comfy chairs, and he sank into one with a groan and pulled out his phone, sending a text to Sans.  
 **Can we go home?**  
He put the phone down and laid back, shutting his eyes miserably, and resting both hands on his stomach, stuffed with far too many treats. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bellyache this bad, and he couldn’t help squirming as his tummy gurgled with displeasure.   
His phone buzzed, and he winced as he reached over to grab it, blearily looking at the screen and Sans’ reply.  
 **Where are you? What’s wrong?**  
He sighed and sent a text back, **Classroom 209.** He didn’t really want to explain himself over text. Sans would unfortunately find out about his lapse in judgement soon enough.  
The was a pause, then -On my way-

Sans pocketed his phone in a panic and pushed through the crowd. Papyrus _always_ texted in all caps unless something was seriously wrong. He’d seen him just an hour ago and everything had seemed to be fine, other than him looking a little tired… what could have possibly happened?  
Finally he found the right classroom and burst in, spotting Papyrus stretched out on a low futon, face screwed up in pain. For a horrible moment he feared something truly dire, but then he saw the way his brother was holding his bulging tummy and his fear dissipated to be replaced by sympathy.  
“Hey bro.” Sans said softly kneeling beside him and smiling gently as he pushed his brother’s hands away from his stomach and rubbed gently over the surface. “What happened?”   
“ _HUrrrp!_ ” Papyrus burped as Sans’ hands kneaded carefully into his aching tummy, clearly not expecting the sound to escape him, and clapped his hand over his mouth before mumbling back, “Won too many games.”  
Despite his concern, Sans chuckled at that. “I mean, you ARE the great Papyrus. Winning too much is a good problem to have.”  
“ _-hic-_ NO.” The taller skeleton groaned, “IT’S A _TERRIBLE_ PROBLEM TO HAVE.”  
“Well, maybe, in this case. Just your luck, huh?”  
“ _Brrrup! ohhh…_ ” Sans pressed down over a particularly painful spot to which Papyrus responded to with another belch and a moan of pain, and suddenly the smaller skeleton didn’t feel like joking anymore. “I’m sorry bro. You should have come and gotten me sooner…”  
“I.. I was looking for you.” Papyrus’ volume was uncharacteristically low as he squeezed his eyes shut, and Sans felt his heart twinge.

They both fell silent (aside from Papyrus’ faint moans) as Sans put his efforts into trying to ease his brother’s pain, massaging carefully in wide circles over the swell and sides of Papyrus’ stomach. The magic energy inside him glowed faintly as his too-large meal burbled and sloshed, swirling against the membrane.  
The churning in his belly gradually began to ease, and Papyrus felt himself getting sleepy. Right on cue, Sans cleared his throat and said, “You know, we really should get you back to the house. Think you can get up?”

It was no easy task, but Papyrus struggled to his feet, cradling his distended belly and wincing as the sharp, bubbling pains started to return.  
Sans took mere moments to let the hosts know they were leaving for the night, and then he was back to lead him to the car and buckle his seat belt for him.  
The ride back was mostly silent; Sans could practically feel the effort radiating off his brother as he clenched his teeth to keep from complaining. Fortunately they didn’t live far, and it wasn’t long before they were gratefully back in their own home.

Papyrus just wanted to collapse into bed, but Sans made him change out of his party clothes and into pajamas before crawling under the covers. His brother sat next to him and started massaging his upset stomach again to which Papyrus couldn’t keep back a whimper of relief. He felt so impossibly full and if his belly would please stop making that horrible _glurrrplurgling_ sound he’d very much appreciate that, thank you.  
“How you feeling, bro?” Sans asked, his hands moving slowly and carefully over his gut, soothing in a back and forth motion.  
“Better.” Papyrus whispered, “But d-don’t stop yet…”  
“Nah, I’ll stay til you fall asleep.” And Papyrus made what sounded like a noise of gratitude, though he couldn’t be entirely sure.

It took a while before the _grrrlls_ and _glurrps_ eventually calmed down again, but gradually Papyrus’ breathing evened out and Sans knew he’d fallen asleep. He hoped his brother’s dreams wouldn’t be too bad tonight. He massaged a little longer before rising, filling a heating pack, and slipping it against his brother’s side, hoping the warmth would help. He smiled sadly as he watched his brother shift uneasily in his sleep. Maybe if his stomach was still upset by morning, he’d pick up some medicine at the corner store.  
He couldn’t help but feel guilty that he’d let his brother out of his sight for so long that he’d let him lose track of his intake like that and end up with such an horrible tummy ache, but he resolved that he’d just have to stick to his brother like glue the next time he got too carried away with enjoying his popularity.   
Still, he was glad that there _was_ popularity to be enjoyed, not that he’d ever had any doubt.  
After all, his brother was definitely the coolest.


	3. Tis The Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Toriel ends up making thanksgiving dinner and Sans enjoys it a little TOO much...? Thanksgiving IS that time where you ,more so than not, stuff yourself silly after all... ;) Feel free to add more characters as you see fit but it was just an idea, hope it helps X3

“SANS, _ENOUGH_.”

“aw, c’mon paps. Isn’t _-hlp-_ this what thanksgiving is for?” the smaller skeleton punctuated this statement with a wink while his brother groaned.

For their first thanksgiving above ground, Monsterkind really had a lot to be thankful for! Toriel had invited everyone over (even Asgore, in the holiday spirit) and with a little help, had produced a feast fit for… well, royalty! Everyone had enjoyed the delicious meats, breads, and savory fixings of all kinds. Now, most guests had finished and left the table to assist in cleanup, but Sans was still determinedly plowing through his third helping. Papyrus was watching his brother hit his limit, and tried fruitlessly to put a stop to the madness.

Toriel returned just then to retrieve the platter that the rolls had been stacked on, and she smiled kindly at the sweating Sans. “There’s no need to force yourself, dear. We’ll have plenty of leftovers!”

“i _want_ to,” Sans assured her with a grin as he forced another forkful of sweet potatoes past his teeth. “s’too good to stop. you really outdid yourself tori.”

Toriel chuckled happily and with another smile, disappeared back into the kitchen.

“I’M LEAVING TO GO HELP, DON’T MAKE YOURSELF SICK WHILE I’M GONE.” Papyrus snorted and followed the former queen, stacking a few dirty dishes on his way.

Finally, now that there were no other monsters around to watch him glut himself, Sans gulped down more turkey with renewed gusto. Every bite was a struggle but he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible before admitting defeat. After a while, he found it easier to keep eating if he massaged his sides every so often between bites. Then he decided it might be easiest to just support his stuffed tummy with a hand splayed across the surface.

 _Oof_ it was getting to be too much. There was so little left on his plate… but he had to take a break. Leaning back, taking careful, labored breaths…

Oh, but he was just _so full_. Maybe he should stop… but there were only a few bites left, and they would go to waste if he didn’t eat them. Finally, with one more rub to his tender, too-full tummy, he sat up and forced the rest down, washing it back with a swig of his drink.

He was certainly fit to burst, but overall, very happy with himself. Resolving to join the rest of the family later in putting the leftovers away, he let himself slump in his chair, gently massaging in circles around the bulge of his belly, slowly drifting off to sleep…

He couldn’t wait for Christmas dinner.


	4. You'll Ruin Your Appetite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the goats having thanksgiving dinner?

“Tori, are you absolutely certain that paprika and cayenne aren’t the same thing?”

Toriel turned around, trying not to laugh at the sight of her husband, Asgore, holding two small jars of red spices, the only apparent difference between them being their labels.

“Yes, Gorey,” She said patiently for the hundredth time, taking them both from him before he could do any more damage to the kitchen, “I am absolutely certain.”

It was autumn, or at least, as close to autumn as they could determine from the colored leaves that fell down into Home and the chilly air that had seeped slowly into the underground. Many monsters tended to get lethargic and despondent around this time of year, as the days shortened and what little sunlight they had receded.

In order to strengthen the morale of their citizens, the Dreemurs had suggested the kingdom celebrate a tradition from the surface, known as Thanksgiving. They’d come across the custom when a catalogue had washed down into Waterfall from above, and thought it sounded like the perfect holiday to lift everyone’s spirits. Good food, surrounded by family and friends, and minds turned to what one could be thankful for even in the hardest of times… it was something at least!

“Paprika is much more mild than cayenne…” Toriel tried to explain as she smacked Asgore’s hand away from the sliced figs that she’d prepared to bake into the fruit tarts. “If you don’t stop snacking–!”

The King laughed, a booming, joyful sound, and scurried away from the counter. “What? I’m helping!”

Toriel sighed, trying to hide her smile. “Go put the muffins into the oven, will you? I’ve got my hands full with the pie right now.” She didn’t often use her appliances over her own fire magic, but the cooking would take much longer if she tried to do it all by hand.

Asgore scooped heaping spoonfuls of blueberry muffin batter into the muffin tin and popped it into the oven, quick as could be. He licked the spoon and bowl clean before giving them a thorough wash in the sink, then moved on to dice tomatoes for the salad. Every so often, he’d sneak a bite of dressing-covered cucumbers, always earning an annoyed glance from his wife, to which he merely chuckled.

The fruit tarts were spectacular; Tori had outdone herself again as always. Slices of figs, pears, apples, and strawberries atop golden-browned puffs of dough and glazed with honey. Asgore couldn’t resist tasting one– just to be sure, of course. 

At his insistence, Toriel allowed Asgore to take charge of the pinwheel appetizers. Spreading a generous amount of thick cream cheese into croissants, and layering the top with sausage and spices, Asgore tasted his creations after each new addition; he had to make sure everything was perfect! He was overjoyed to earn Toriel’s stamp of approval, and he placed the platter in the midst of the other nibblers on the table. 

Wrapping her in a hug from behind, Asgore pulled Toriel against himself with a gentle squeeze as he inhaled deeply over her shoulder. “Is that… cinnamon I smell?”

“And butterscotch!” She squeaked, red in the face and hands in the air to avoid covering them both in flour. “I’m trying out a new recipe.”

“It smells delicious.” He assured her, swiping a fingerful of batter and ignoring her good-natured huff of exasperation as he licked the sticky substance from his hand. “Tastes pretty delicious, too.”

“Oh, go sit at the table!” She fussed, lips twitching with the effort to keep from laughing. “Everything is just about ready.”

By the time everything was laid out and they’d both been seated comfortably at the table, Asgore was already feeling less-than-hungry from his constant sampling, but he wasn’t about to let their feast go to waste! Wasn’t the point of Thanksgiving to eat yourself into a stupor, anyways? At least, that’s how the humans seemed to view it.

He said as much, in protest when Toriel pulled the mashed potatoes out of his grasp when he’d puffing with breathlessness trying to finish them.

“Gorey, as much as I love seeing you enjoy the food we made together, you’re going to make yourself sick if you keep eating like this.” His wife asserted, half joking, half scolding.

“Aww, Tori! But this is what Thanksgiving is all about, isn’t it?”

“I was under the distinct impression that it was about _giving thanks_.”

Asgore groaned with a laugh, leaning back in his chair after deciding he didn’t have the _oomph_ needed to go chasing after the potatoes. “Okay, you win.” He rested one big hand over the roundness of his belly, contentedly sighing at the feeling of being so, impossibly full.

“Don’t go to sleep yet!” He faintly registered Toriel clearing away the empty dishes and returning to the table with something that smelled heavenly. “If you’re really that determined to keep eating, there’s always dessert!”

He pried his eyes open with effort, and beamed at her as she placed her novel creation down in front of them, cut into it, and gave them each a hefty slice. The perfectly baked crust, dusted with cinnamon, flaked away from his fork as he bore down on it. He scooped up a warm, melty bite of the butterscotch custard filling and savored it happily.

“This is fantastic, Tori.” He smiled at her affectionately as she too, enjoyed her slice. “Your best yet, I do believe.”

“I’m glad you like it, Gorey.” She leaned across the table just as he did, and they shared a kiss sweetened with pie filling. 

As Asgore picked up his fork again, she sighed in happiness. “Just think, of the other families right now who must be sitting at their own tables, sharing the good spirits of food and friends and hopefully looking towards brighter times.” She smiled a bit mistily, and Asgore returned it as he enveloped her hand in his own. “This was such a great idea, I’m so glad we found that book from the surface when we did. I wonder if other useful things may someday wash up in the same place?”

“Maybe they will.” He said thoughtfully, wondering himself if that was something they could make use of, in the future. He brushed the thoughts away as he faced the last half of his slice, feeling the weight of so much good food resting heavily in his belly. 

Toriel had risen once again to begin cleaning the kitchen, so Asgore risked a careful rub across his distended tummy when her back was turned, and forced down a few more bites. The last morsels seemed to be taunting him…

Finally, painfully, he swallowed the last forkful and leaned back clumsily in his chair, breathing with a bit of difficulty as he tenderly massaged the swell of his gut. The pie had been delicious with every bite, but now as his stomach grumbled with discomfort, he began to wonder if those last few bites had really been worth it.

Resting for a bit with his eyes closed, hands pressed firmly to his huge belly, beginning to wonder if it would help if he just went and laid down, he suddenly felt two slightly smaller, equally warm and soft hands join his on paunch. Sheepishly opening his eyes, he looked up to see Toriel smiling gently down at him, before she leaned over and kissed him right between the eyes as she started rubbing gently, easing the slight pain and too-tight-fullness in his tummy.

“Mmm… thanks, Tori…” Asgore mumbled, barely understandable, and she sighed as she urged him to his feet to put him down for an afternoon nap. 

Thanksgiving dinner is the kind of meal best slept off, after all.


	5. goodness in, goodness out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A concept: Sans having a stomach ache from not eating and sleeping well, so he has to call in sick and is curled up on the couch all day. Papyrus returns home, ready to chastise Sans for taking such poor care of himself, but instead heats up some chicken and veg soup for him (Toriel made it when she heard he'd called in sick), and wraps them up in a blanket so they can watch cartoons together, like when they were kiddy bones.

_Sunlight is streaming through the stained glass arches that rise high towards the ceiling, bathing the room in a buttery yellow, and shimmering across the equally golden flowers that flourish outside. The warmth from the sun glows against him, but his soul is cold inside his ribcage. Birdsong rings through his skull, but he grits his teeth, hating the sound, hating that the world, so peaceful and so bright, is just outside, just out of reach for all who had hoped and dreamed and wished some day to taste it for themselves._

_His attention is drawn to the far end of the corridor as someone walks forward. He wants to stare them down, to hold their gaze mercilessly in his own so they can see that they are accountable, so he can force the consequences for their treachery upon them but their face is glazed in shadow. That didn’t seem right, hadn’t he seen their gleaming red eyes before…?_

_Before he has time to open his mouth, to grind out his words of judgement, they’ve moved, and they’re swinging their weapon towards him. He leaps backwards, again and again, and throws his magic attacks in undulating waves. The human is weaving in and out, back and forth, as they dodge and dance and smile, and he smiles back as cold, wet tears slide down his cheekbones._

_He thinks he might hear them laughing.  
Or was it him?_

_**You can’t understand how this feels.** _

When his soul shatters on the edge of their knife, Sans jolts forward with a scream, waiting for the blossom of agony to rise in his chest. It doesn’t come, and for a moment, all he can do is breathe, breathe, as he sweats and trembles, tangled in the sheets of his own bed.   
When he gets his bearings back and can breathe normally once more, he raises his head and looks out the window at the stars, shining like glistening jewels against the velvet throat of night. Real stars, not the reflective rocks embedded in the ceilings above Waterfall. The moon hangs low on the horizon, a milky crescent, and he swallows hard while he drinks in the sight of it’s borrowed light.

He’s safe. He’s in his own room, in his own house on the surface, and he can hear Papyrus’ gentle snores drifting down the hallway. He’s safe. They’d made it out. _They’re all safe. He’s safe._

Sans repeats the mantra in his head until the words feel worn and threadbare, but he can’t shake the lingering tendrils of the dream, clinging inside him like cobwebs.   
It had been happening for days now, some new terror every night that would rattle him from his peaceful sleep and snake it’s cold fingers into his mind so that even his waking hours were exhausting. If it wasn’t the Judgement Hall, it was watching Papyrus be dusted. If it wasn’t Papyrus being dusted, it was strange, malformed monsters, melted against each other, crying out and reaching, trying to smother him. If it was’t the melting monsters, it was an odd, strange, half-memory that seemed familiar, but was fragmented and eluded his attempts to claim it.

His forehead is clammy and his stomach is rolling unhappily as he gingerly lays back down and closes his eye sockets.  
Sleep, unsurprisingly, doesn’t come, and he tosses and turns restlessly for the remainder of the night. When dawn breaks a few short hours later, he mutters obscenities as the unwelcome sunlight pierces through his bedroom window. He really ought to get a set of curtains…

Feeling increasingly haggard from his lack of sleep, he stumbles down the stairs, rubbing his face and yawning while Papyrus bustles around in the kitchen, preparing to leave for work. At the sight of him, his brother stops instantly and begins to screech.

Was such a volume level _really_  necessary?

“SANS! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU? WHAT IS CAUSING YOU TO DROOP IN SUCH A MANNER?”

“S’nothing Paps. Didn’t sleep well last night, but it doesn’t really _mattress_.” He winks and grins and Papyrus claps his hands over his head and groans loudly.

“Heh, sorry. That was a pretty _bed_ one.”

“SANS.”

With Papyrus sufficiently distracted, Sans sidles over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of ketchup.

“IS THAT ALL YOU’RE HAVING FOR BREAKFAST, AGAIN??”

“Sure, bro.” Sans takes a big gulp as he shrugs. Ain’t nothing _tomata_ with it, right?” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he could handle any solid food right now. His stomach still felt unsettled from his disturbed dreams. Best not to let Papyrus know that though, he mused. He would just worry.

“UGH. WELL FINE. BUT BE SURE TO EAT SOMETHING MORE SUSTAINING LATER. YOU’VE BEEN DRINKING AN AWFUL LOT OF KETCHUP LATELY.” Papyrus happened to glance at the clock on the wall, and instantly launched into a flurry of movement. “AH, I MUST BE OFF. SEE YOU THIS EVENING BROTHER.” And then Papyrus was gone, out the door like some kind of whirlwind. Where he got all that energy, Sans wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

His shift didn’t start til noon, and it was currently almost 9am (a time of day he normally strictly avoided waking up to if he could help it) so he decided he’d pass the time watching a little TV. Just in case he got hungry soon, he grabbed a few snacks from the counter to carry back to the living room, so he wouldn’t have to get up later. Potato chisps, packaged pastries known as “honey buns,” and cheesy fries in a take-out box accompany him to the couch, as well as his bottle of ketchup.

By the time he’s sat through one episode of his favorite show, he’s drained half the bottle, and started to feel a bit more hungry (as well as sleepy.) Not wanting to fall back asleep for fear of the dream returning, he begins to decisively plow into his snacks, to keep himself occupied and awake, and to sate his hunger.

By the time 11:30 rolls around, when he needs to be getting ready to leave for the day, he’s realized that the junk food was a really, _really_ bad idea. He’s curled in on himself on the couch, clutching his sickly belly and moaning, caught somewhere between pain and nausea. The combined sugar and grease is vehemently disagreeing with him, and as the minutes tick by, he realizes he isn’t going to make it into work.

Luckily he has his cellphone on him, so he dials the number and hears the receiver ring once, twice, before the line is picked up and he’s greeted by silence.  
“Hey Grillby.” He groans into the speaker. The silence on the other end somehow shifts towards concern.  
“I can’t make it in today. Sorry for the late notice.”  
He waits until he feels the silence turn to acceptance, before he sighs in relief, “Thanks Grillbz. See ya tomorrow.” and hangs up.

Perhaps Papyrus did have a point about not sleeping well, eating pure junk rather than good, healthy meals, Sans muses unhappily. Exhaustion clings to his soul and keeps him in a perpetual state of unease, while the rest of his body craves a more balanced, wholesome source of magic that he continually denies it.

His bones feel achy and sore but it’s his belly that _really_ hurts him, feeling like it’s trying to pay him back for the torment he keeps heaping on it. It gurgles and roils underneath its blue membrane and he tries to pet it soothingly, but it doesn’t help much. He can’t do much other than lay curled in a fetal position while he whimpers at the indigestion twisting through his middle.

He drifts in and out of fitful sleep (blessedly dreamless) until late that evening when the front door bangs open and in strides his brother, whom he peers at blearily.

Papyrus find himself halting in mid-yell, with one scolding finger raised high in the air and his jaw gaping comically open. He’d been preparing to read Sans the riot act all the way home, having heard from Grillby that his brother had canceled his shift. At the end of the day, he’d stopped by Toriel’s to rant about how his brother’s unhealthy routines probably got him into this mess, but the kindly lady had simply clucked in sympathy and bundled up a pot of warm chicken and veggie soup to take home, expressing her hope that it might help Sans to feel better.

But all his righteous indignation fled the moment his eyes fell on Sans, curled miserably on the couch and looking more than a little green, his face pinched in pain and his eyes glassy from weariness.  
Papyrus’ jaw snaps shut with a _clack_ and he simply sighs tenderly while placing his hands on his hips. After a few moments of staring at each other (Sans with shame, Papyrus with gentle exasperation), the taller skeleton brother walks into the kitchen to prepare them each a bowl of soup.

When he returns, Sans has crawled into a sitting position, though he looks no less ill. He perks up a little at the smell of the nutritious stew and Papyrus smiles as he places the warm bowl in his brother’s hands before wrapping them both in the afghan from the back of the couch.

“Sorry bro.” Sans attempts to apologize, half joking, even as his brother shakes his head, “I guess I bit off a little more than I could chew.”   
“SANS IT IS NOT ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU EAT, BUT **WHAT** YOU EAT THAT MAKES THE DIFFERENCE. YOU MUST TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF. WHY HAVEN’T YOU BEEN EATING CORRECTLY?”  
At that, Sans pauses in his meal and looks down at his lap, troubled by something. “I er… haven’t been sleeping well.”  
“WHY NOT?”  
“…Nightmares. They uh… upset my stomach too.”  
Papyrus can barely make out what Sans whispers under his breath, but when he hears it, he sighs again. Taking a moment to flip the TV to a cartoon that he knows might help distract his brother from his unhappiness, he scoots closer and wraps the smaller skeleton in an embrace.  
“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?”  
“I didn’t want you to worry.”  
“CONSIDER ME WORRIED.”  
Sans hiccups sadly and Papyrus hugs him a little closer. “PLEASE SANS, WHEN SOMETHING IS CAUSING YOU DISTRESS, I WANT YOU TO COME TO ME SO I CAN HELP. THAT’S WHAT BROTHERS DO.”  
Finally, San’s eyes lighten a little as he smiles. “Yeah, that’s what brothers do.”

It feels wonderfully comfy, with the nourishing soup now tucked away inside of him, and his brother snuggled close. Almost like when they were little, and they’d sit together on the couch, watching cartoons while the snow fell outside. They were older now, and on the surface, and had a whole new slew of problems to deal with than they did back then, but as long as they had each other, they’d make it out alright.

Yawning hugely, Sans closed his eyes, leaning back on Papyrus who rested his head on his own. Yeah. They’d be alright.


End file.
